


My my simple sir

by kogimaru



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Humiliation, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kogimaru/pseuds/kogimaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Truth be told, I've been here, I've done this all before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A woozy youth

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! This is a totally experimental thing that I'm working on in my free time heavily inspired by the song Gooey by Glass Animals, but if anyone actually likes this trash I suppose I will try to buckle down and put Actual Effort into hitting all of the points on my Rhack checklist. Comments and general thoughts are totally welcome! If I made any tense or spelling errors, please forgive me. I haven't written fic in only 4 or 5 years now, pbblt. Enjoy!

When Rhys returns Jack to Helios, the first thing the self-proclaimed king does is float around in the data stream firing people out of airlocks and fixing the inner power scale of his mess of a company. Rhys gets the office like he was promised, and Jack doesn’t even ask for it back when he struts down the darkened hallway, arms outstretched, in his new fresh and fleshy body. In fact, he gets a second chair, which Rhys is certain he will gradually end up sitting in anyways, and insists on bothering Rhys as if he had never left the kid’s head. Maybe he was just used to it like Rhys un-admittedly was. Jack’s family and friends (if you could call them that) all died before he did, Rhys remembers. So when Jack pulls out some (ok, a lot of) alcohol and calls strippers (something he also promised), he grins nervously and pretends to not be incredibly uncomfortable with participating in Jack’s victory celebration. Jack enjoys himself and gets wasted enough to fall asleep in Rhys’ chair. Rhys just pays the strippers and rolls Jack over to a couch near the door of his office, dumping him out there. He struggles Jack’s (disgusting) jacket off and covers him with it.

Rhys sighs and returns to his desk, plugging his chair’s connection to the system into his port and returns to punching data as if Jack hadn’t just thrown a small party to celebrate Rhys returning him to the top of Hyperion and subsequently betraying his friends in the process. Rhys wasn’t mad or even upset about the later part of that fact, only startlingly disappointed at how unsurprised he was at his own actions. He supposed they were never in it to be his friends, though, but it still didn’t make him feel less empty about not being able to keep them. Everyone in Hyperion stepped on someone to get ahead. He also had Jack, he thought, and suddenly felt bad for maybe being a piss-poor participant during their little party, but shrugged it off remembering how quickly shit-faced Jack had become and how Rhys was probably the last thing on his mind. Although he knew it was unwise, he swallowed his doubts about his decisions returning to bite him in the ass; because this was everything Rhys had wanted from the whole vault-key ordeal in the first place. He would be stupid to throw it away now just because he felt a little scummy. Everyone was looking out for themselves, so maybe he ought to as well.

Rhys drifts into his work, eyes growing red and tired as hours go by. It’s hard to keep a biological clock when your office faces empty, black space. He’s wired on being connected to Helios, his mental focus sustained on the systematic whiiiiir buzzing from within his ears. He’s so adrift he doesn’t hear Jack’s heavy boots on the marble floor approaching his desk or see the broader man lean over his shoulder to stare at the screen.

“What’re you doin’ there, kiddo?” Jack’s voice is sharp and hard in his ear, almost threatening if Rhys didn’t know any better, but it still startles him. This isn’t Pandora and he’s not teetering on a constant edge of uncertain death (though Helios isn’t much different, he supposes) so he doesn’t entirely jump out of his skin. He jerks his head too fast to look at Jack, though, and the chair’s connection rips painfully from his port.

“Em, just..rescheduling..s-some shipments,” He rubs at the worn metal circle at his temple to assuage the dull pain, face grimacing as Jack gently guides the chair’s connection back into Rhys’ fishing hand. He notices that Jack’s not wearing his jacket but doesn’t mention it. “When you chucked half of the team that ships to Pandora they got a little overwhelmed with the freight demands. Just..extending some minor deadlines so they make time.” _And so you don’t kill them_ , Rhys doesn’t say.

“Awe, how sweet of you, Rhysie,” Jack unexpectedly puts his hand on Rhys’ head, eyes returning to the screen. His words are slightly slurred and it’s obvious he’s sporting a headache, but his expression is deceptively pleasant, and his hand pets Rhys’ hair in a way that is characteristically patronizing.

“Can’t just get rid of all of freight,” Rhys cocks an eyebrow at Jack even though he’s not looking and tilts his head so that Jack’s hand slides off, “there would be no one left to do anything otherwise.”

“Right, right..” Jack’s not listening to him, probably still disoriented somewhat from his nap, “so…what’s up, kiddo, were the strippers not any good?” Rhys’ hands slow on the keyboard, his eyes shifting to watch Jack’s expression while occasionally flittering back to continue his work, “I mean I know you’re a total stick in the mud but,” Jack withdraws from Rhys’ shoulder and walks around the back of the chair, his voice fading as he goes. “I kinda expected a repressed office hermit like you to enjoy a little taste of being on top for once.” Rhys just smirks at Jack’s inability to feign any kind of reservation towards other people’s moods, diverting his attention back to the keys as he hears Jack rolling the other chair close and then the clink of his boots as he props them up on the desk.

“They were…fine, Jack,” Rhys isn’t lying, at least he hopes Jack is still too disinterested to think he isn’t, “I guess I’m just…not used to it, yet.”

“Oh. Well, in that case…” Jack digs through his jean pockets and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, “Look at you, babe. You could probably just shout a little and Shipment would haul ass just as quickly.”

Rhys scoffs dryly and stares at Jack’s fingers as they bring a cigarette to his mouth. “I don’t… _shout_.” Rhys’ shoulders twitch slightly in annoyance at the click of Jack’s lighter, his attention finally turning from his work. Rhys hates the smell of tobacco, and the smoke exhaled from Jack’s first drag grates harder on his tired nerves than he expects it to. He notices that Jack is watching him as well, smoke curling past his frigid mismatched eyes making them look colder, and quickly turns back to his keyboard.

Rhys’s body suddenly feels heavy with the exhaustion no longer held at bay by busy work, his mind slowly fussing over the fact that Jack was in the flesh, again. He remembers his days admiring the man from afar, the day he had been spit on and felt lucky for it, and grows decidedly more embarrassed with every second he thinks about the Jack he knew before he had ever shared a headspace with the guy. Technically there was no difference now, except that Rhys might’ve forgotten about what being in his literal presence felt like while he was busy trying not to die down on Pandora. A heat rising under his clothes urges him to remove his coat, letting it fall into the seat behind him.“I think you do enough…shouting for the both of us.”

Jack chokes on a combination of his cigarette and a laugh, smoke blowing through his lips with each hiccup of his chest, “That’s right, cupcake.” Jack’s voice is strained from his coughing and Rhys risks a glance to see that he’s taken to slowly spinning circles in his chair. “Frankly this place turned into a shit-hole after I died. Don’t even know how you morons have survived this long without me.”

“S-sure,” Rhys tries to feign disinterest and make it super obvious that he’s attempting to return to his work, but if Jack notices, he isn’t phased. The next thing Rhys feels is a shove on the back of his chair that scoots him forward a little bit. He doesn’t have to look again to know that Jack has placed his feet flat against the back of Rhys’ chair, but he peers around to casually raise an eyebrow in question anyways. Jack has slid down in his seat to balance the push of his feet on the back of Rhys’ chair, his flashy yellow sweater hitching slightly over the flat of his stomach.

“You sure you’re ok, kid?” Jack tilts his head curiously, coolly blowing smoke from his nostrils. Jack is somewhat mellow when he smokes, Rhys notices.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just…also not used to you having a body,” Rhys looks away to run his mechanical hand through his hair nervously, refusing to look at Jack entirely now, because he knows his face is pink.

“Aaaaoh, I get it.” Jack’s voice is so heavy with a smirk it makes Rhys’ skin crawl. “You’re a little star-struck now that I’m not just hanging around in your noggin’, that it?” Rhys sighs and rolls his eyes, “It’s okay, sweetheart, I don’t blame you. Being back in this body makes me a little flustered, myself, if you know what I mean, eh, Rhysie- know what I mean?” Jack has taken to nudging Rhys’ chair excitedly with both of his feet, making it bounce a little with each push.

Rhys rolls his eyes and returns to messing with the Pandora shipment logs. “Yeah, I mean,” Jack’s feet fall to the floor again with a hard clack. “I jerked it like five billion times when I rolled out of bed this morning. Man, I missed having a body.”

Rhys screws his brows in annoyance, fighting the urge to voice his skepticism of anyone being able to masturbate five billion times consecutively before deciding to do himself one better and _not_ think about it all together. Least he work himself into a sleepy, mildly unpleasant fanboy boner. Rhys types away at the schedule some more while Jack chats away behind him about having his body again. When he finishes and closes off the interface, Rhys peeks around the back of his chair once more to catch Jack lighting another cigarette. Having shimmied himself up into a weird slouch against the left armrest, Jack drags on his cigarette like any other person would a fresh breathe of air, and holds the smoke in his lungs until he tilts his head back and lets it trickle from his mouth with an audible, euphoric sigh. Rhys waits patiently for Jack to notice him while he openly stares at the older man before he does. Rhys probably definitely missed Jack having a body, too.

Jack finally lowers his head and matches Rhys’ gaze, a tiny smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, “You and me, kiddo. What’s that you said before? You couldn’t have gotten here without me?” Rhys calmly spins round to face Jack, giving him a quiet but genuine smile of his own. This was probably Jack’s way of trying to say he felt the same. They hadn’t really talked about everything that had happened. “Here,” Jack suddenly tosses him his pack of cigarettes, “you needa live a little, kid. Next thing you know you might be just a husk of meat down on some garbage planet.”

“Comes with the job, I guess.” Rhys works a cigarette from the carton with the finesse and air of a grade-schooler pulling out crayons and practices pinching it between his fingers while Jack tosses the lighter onto his lap.

“Atta boy!” Jack pulls Rhys’s chair to him with the edge of his foot so he can rest his boots on the area between the kid’s skinny knees. Jack is nowhere near touching him with the proximity, but it still makes Rhys unintentionally push further into his seat and fumble with his cigarette like a nervous wreck. Jack finds that interesting enough to squint his eyes and chuckle at, and suddenly he’s pulling Rhys in again and bracketing him into his seat with one foot under the right arm rest and the other pressed firmly onto Rhys’ stomach.

“Tell me, Rhysie,” Jack’s foot presses in a little harder, “cupcake,” Rhys slowly lowers his unlit cigarette, a flutter of anticipation rising in his chest. “I can’t really tell at this point, so, please be honest with me, here, but…” Rhys swallows hard, hoping Jack doesn’t hear it, “but what is this… _tension_ goin’ on between us today? Is it-”Jack motions with his hands as if he can literally grasp the words he is trying to think of, “fear? Are you afraid I’m gonna kill you, sweetie? Is that it?”

Rhys doesn’t really feel interested in trying a cigarette any longer and lets it idle in his hand as he tries to relax his shoulders against the chair. He knows he has to answer this time and chews his lip in thought, “Em…”. Jack lets him squirm, patiently dragging on his own cigarette every now and then. When Rhys clams up so tightly he can’t keeps Jack’s gaze, he knows he’s in for it. He expects a laugh or a chain of unforgiving accusations and jokes, but what Rhys doesn’t expect, is a long stretch of near absolute silence.

“Ah,” the pressure of the foot on Rhys’ stomach moves down onto his crotch, gently nudging at a small hard-on stirring in his pants. “or is it this. You like what you see?” It’s not a question at all and Rhys shivers a little because Jack’s voice is suddenly really low. Still, his boot doesn’t move, nor does he stomp a hole in Rhys’ pelvis for popping a chub in His Handsomeness’ presence.

“M’sorry, Jack. I know you…think I’m…creepy, or whatever,” Rhys is surprised by how tired and serious he sounds despite how absolutely on edge he feels. “it’s not like that, though..I’m just really..tired…I-” Jack’s foot actually starts rubbing him through his pants -as much as a boot can, really- but it’s enough to make the erection he had before suddenly feel a lot less small and a lot less ignorable.

Rhys’ immediate reaction is to be angry with Jack for toying with him, but the longer the older man stays silent, the more Rhys doubts his tired mind can think of a way to escape any embarrassment this is ultimately leading to. Jack leans back in his chair and puffs more streams of smoke at Rhys like it’s just the most relaxing thing in the world to be giving his subordinate a really shitty foot-job. It pisses Rhys off to no end, but he doesn’t say anything - how can he when he’s actually getting hard from this?

Jack eyes stay locked onto Rhys’ face, an unspoken challenge glinting there when he notices Rhys biting his lip and shifting to ease the pressure on his growing erection. “Here I thought you were worried about being murdered.” Finally, the edge of Jack’s mouth curls in the slightest bit, and it would have been reassuring for Rhys if he hadn’t also pressed his foot down just a tiny bit harder.

Jack relents momentarily just to run the toe of his boot along the impression of Rhys’ cock now forming noticeably against the dark fabric of his pants. When Rhys lets out hard sigh of relief, he returns the pressure once more, probably hoping to coax an appreciative moan at best. Rhys just clenches his teeth and breathes heavily, eyes falling shut under a worried brow. He’s got to keep some dignity, dammit.

Lucky for Jack, Rhys is almost entirely incapable of such things. Covering his eyes with his mechanical hand, cigarette still laced between his index and middle finger, Rhys finally lets out a faltering whimper after more petting (if you could call it that). Jack’s cocked eyebrow is the only indication that he might be enjoying himself but otherwise he makes no move to touch himself or gives any sign that he is even aroused as well. When Rhys notices this, he feels worse, he feels like crying, he feels like he should be angry, but he also knows that Jack probably thinks he doing Rhys a favor. Or perhaps this is only a passing moment of sick curiosity.

When Jack’s heel digs into where his balls are, making Rhys gasp and shiver, he decides he can’t take it and opens his mouth to speak- but the noise of the office door buzzing and sliding open cuts him short. Rhys jerks away from Jack’s boot and spins his chair away from the door too quickly to not make himself look totally suspicious, but if the intruder noticed they didn’t say anything about it.

“Sir, those files you wanted.” The door guard nods respectfully from the entry, a few bright yellow folders clutched in his armored hand, “A guy from R&D wanted me to pass these to you. Said they were important.”

Rhys was about to risk thanking the man despite knowing his voice would undoubtedly crack, when Jack spoke up instead. “Thanks, sweetpea, drop those on the couch over there. And send in a cleaner bot, will ya?” Jack insinuated his purpose by flicking his second cigarette butt onto the glossy marble floor.

“Right away, sir.” The guard excited soon after and Rhys groaned in relief. He was mostly flaccid at this point and having come down from his stupor, the dizzying throb pounding behind his eyes told him he really needed to get some sleep.

As if nothing had happened at all, Jack doesn’t miss a beat lighting up one more cigarette, “So, Rhys. I’m throwing a real shindig in about three days from now. You’re coming, too, so wear something nice.” Jack stands up beside him to take a few drags before grimacing and tossing his fresh cigarette on the ground to tap it out with the same foot he had been grating into Rhys’ crotch only minutes before. “And please, Rhys, don’t wear any stupid socks, okay? I don’t need you embarrassing me when some chick is tryin’ to jump your bones and busts a lung laughing at your neon toesies, alright?”

Before Rhys can process anything that’s happening, Jack pats him on the shoulder and leaves, whistling a vaguely familiar tune as he picks up his things by the door and leaves Rhys sleepily staring at the cigarette butts littering the floor at his feet.


	2. Peanut butter vibes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah, so sorry if this is all badly edited. I’ve been super busy with college essays and still need a beta and tumblr is not the best place to advertise this stuff for some reason, lol. Also I’m going on a small 5-day trip to California nextnext weekend and so I’ve got to cram all of my assignments before then and submit them early. I probably won’t be posting any updates until after then, but who knows!! Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments, they really keep me going. And thanks retro for giving me some inspo to finish this??? *_* <3 Last chapter, I promise some actual porn, ok.

There’s no party like a Hyperion party. And the parties hosted by CEOs were of a completely different caliber than the one’s Rhys had attended in college. Decked in dark, slim jeans that made his legs look impossibly long and a black dress jacket patterned on one side with yellow pin-stripe to accent his equally yellow socks and bowtie, Rhys finger-gunned at his reflection to ease his nerves as he surveyed himself in the bathroom mirror. He had tried calling Vaughn to mellow him out, but only grew more anxious when he didn’t get any answer. When he thought about it afterwards, maybe that wouldn’t have been the best idea anyways.

The past few days for Rhys had been…strange to say the least. Doing president-things while Jack was doing very normal non-president things meant he wasn’t bothered except when Jack needed something from him. It seemed like neither of them felt terribly compelled to mention the incident, thankfully, but Rhys wasn’t sure what to make of Jack’s normally touchy comradery anymore. He knew he might very well be overthinking any lingering touches, but they still left him feeling unrestful and horny whenever he was alone in the office or elsewhere. He tried his best not to look at Jack if he could avoid it, leading to some very uncomfortable confrontations that left him red in the face and Jack mildly amused.

But none of that mattered, he told himself, because he was going to this party and he was Hyperion’s president now. Or, co-president, if the other employees had anything to say about. Rhys was looking forward to letting off steam after having to get bossy with his sore lessers for the better part of his week. He didn’t put the fear of god into them like Jack did and some associates hadn’t gotten the memo that he wasn’t just a fellow computer jockey anymore. Many times Rhys found himself sympathizing with the murderous tantrums Jack was known for during his rise at Hyperion. Except Rhys really didn’t want to have to actually kill anyone.

Smoothing his hair one too many times to absolute perfection, Rhys checked his teeth one last time before rubbing some perfumes onto the nape of his neck and smoothing some clear balm onto his lips. Grooming was definitely something Rhys missed while he was down on Pandora – he probably wouldn’t be able to return to the cheaper products he used before, not that he minded.

Jack’s party venue was discreet and tucked into a corner of the Hub of Heroism. It sat untouched while he was dead, but he quickly rectified that misfortune. While unassuming it was from the outside, the inside was dressed from top to bottom in a shimmery velvet that changed colors depending on whichever angle you viewed it from. There were sections of the floor that were made of a glass that fractured colored lights that shone from underneath. A flashy circular bar stood in the center of the room. No stools, but many secretive cubbies and tables lined the walls, each draped in shimmery gold curtains that flickered to different densities depending on how private you wanted to be. The large distance spread between the cubbies and the bar was where people were meant to mingle and dance to their leisure. A small stage was crowded into the very back, its edges constantly spilling a brightly colored fog that sparkled as people walked through it. Rhys tried not to squeal like a tiny girl when he took it all in, the reality of his new status temporarily squishing any anxieties he previously had under its royal, all-consuming weight.

A cute steward bot greeted Rhys at the entrance as president, his mood instantly sailing through the roof, and ushered him to a larger table near the stage that had its curtains pulled back. Rhys could hear Jack’s voice before he saw him, and when he did his mood immediately curtailed and dove straight into a tight bundle of nerves at the bottom of his stomach. Jack was the definition of kingly; his usual company-promoting attire replaced by something casual but still incredibly classy. A dark suit jacket buttoned once at the midriff, Jack’s peculiar yellow striped tie tucked into it where it hung out from the bottom. His pants were a bronze velveteen that were belted by a heavy black belt with gold accents, rolled up a little at the bottom above his worn wingtip oxford style shoes that didn’t at all go with the rest of his outfit but somehow looked alluring hugging low on his bare ankles.

Never having seen Jack attempting to look proper before, Rhys regrets trying to be cheeky by wearing flamboyant socks when Jack told him not to. He was quickly realizing there might be some validity to Jack’s clothing advice.

“Rhysie!” Jack’s excited tone didn’t distract Rhys from the two women on either side of him. They were pretty in that hot secretary kind of way, but Rhys didn’t particularly care for how they were leaning into Jack, who only spread his legs comfortably and basked in the attention because of course he would. Rhys didn’t want to blow this already.

“Hey! Uh,” Rhys nodded his head in acknowledgement to everyone present, a few executives from R&D and at least three people Rhys knew were from different companies. This was probably all for them, he noted. “should I just..?”

“Here, here,” Jack wiggled in his seat, signaling to the woman on his left to make room. She pouted but moved, letting Rhys slide into the booth into her spot next to Jack. Rhys was slender enough to squeeze in comfortably, but still fidgeted as Jack’s thigh met his own. “Everyone, President Rhys, Rhys, everyone.” Rhys could only grin uncomfortably when the woman who gave up her place slid back in and clung to him, her manicured nails coming up to stroke the back of his head affectionately. His hair being mussed irritated him to no end, but he wasn’t going to let anyone here know that. All of the table momentarily chimed in to bid Rhys a varying chorus of hellos.

“Ah, can I get a drink?” Rhys could feel his patience breaking under the eyes glued to him from all around the table. He couldn’t tell if they were impressed or confused, but he didn’t have to think about it too hard if he could get some alcohol in his system.

“Yeah, yeah, anything you want,” Jack waved a hand towards a steward bot approaching their table. He then leaned into Rhys’ ear while everyone else at the table began conversing amongst themselves again. Rhys’s drink was already delivered, so he picked it up and sipped the bitter, glowing liquid off the edge of the glass, trying desperately to ignore the breathe of Jack’s voice blowing into his ear at this proximity. “What do you think of the place, kiddo? You like it?”

“Honestly,” Encouraged by the tingle of the alcohol over his tongue, Rhys turned his head to whisper back into Jack’s ear, patting Jack’s shoulder lightly with his opposite, chrome hand as he set his drink back onto the table, “It’s pretty amazing. I don’t think I could have imagined a party being this awesome.”

“Hah. Not even in your wildest dreams, kiddo.” Jack intercepted Rhys fetching his drink from the table again and brought it up to his lips. Rhys watched him down the whole thing in one go, laughing nervously as the hand over his gripped down to prevent him from just releasing the glass to Jack. When he was done, Jack let go and relaxed back into his seat with a deep sigh, sliding his own half-finished drink over to Rhys for trade. “Damn, that’s good. Finish this for me. And hey, don’t worry about talking any business tonight. I got this one for ya.”

~

By Rhys’ sixth drink, he learned that the girl that gave up her spot to him earlier was named Lucy and that she was a service girl on the weekends at popular clubbing spots in the near galaxy to pay for her tuition at a college on Eden 4. She was majoring in biomechanics, and was working on a project that used Skag DNA to construct fearsome attack-dog bots. She was 22 and too young to be putting herself through college, but Rhys felt a little sympathetic towards her for that. He also found it harder and harder to remain “cool” the more they talked about college life and the technicalities of his arm, which she began tinkering with while he listened to her brag about fellow classmates that could fix him up with something far deadlier for a company president. Someone else at the table eventually dragged her attention away, which Rhys was slightly grateful for. He was starting to feel a little dizzy and his words were slurring.

Checking on Jack, Rhys twisted his mouth into an annoyed pout when he saw that Jack’s other lady companion was tucked on his shoulder, rolling her big, lovely eyes up at him like he was the center of the universe. Jack didn’t seem particularly interested, but still draped his arm around her shoulder, indulging whatever flirty thing she was whispering into his ear with an occasional chuckle. _This is you talking business?_ Rhys sighs to himself and then angrily downs another drink because he’s totally not jealous.The loud clank of Rhys setting his empty glass back on the table draws Jack’s attention.

“Slow down, there, buddy.” Jack leans away from his friend to roughly pat Rhys on the back a few times. The jolt makes Rhys tip over a little but he saves himself by gripping the edge of his seat at the last minute. Someone from across the table laughs at him, making his face burn in embarrassment. Jack laughs at him, too, but that’s somehow more bearable as long as it means he isn’t laughing at the girl on his arm.

Rhys leans back and tries to casually slide closer to Jack for support. Somehow, he gets away with it by feigning another spell of dizziness. Rhys can see the disappointed expression on the service girl’s face from behind Jack’s head when he turns his attention to talk to the table. He’s never felt so victorious.

~

By Rhys’ eleventh drink, he has to politely decline the invitation to take shots with the rest of the table. Liquor is a completely different poison and Rhys doesn’t want to be completely incoherent for the rest of the evening.

Jack’s taking all of the shots, the girls cheering him as he downs one glass after another. Alcohol doesn’t seem to affect him besides making him a little louder and a little gigglier, but Rhys thinks it’s pretty cute and entertaining to watch Jack enjoying himself. Wait, cute? Rhys is beyond smashed, he decides. When he tries to gather the focus needed to form coherent words to ask if he can be excused for a moment, the service girl clinging to Jack’s shoulder intercepts Rhys’ thoughts when her hand starts stroking Jack’s thigh under the edge of the table suggestively.The fact that Jack either doesn’t seem to notice or doesn’t seem to care makes Rhys scoff and roll his eyes in frustration.

Sobered now as much as he can be, Rhys straightens up in his seat and asks for a shot. The rest of the table offers him encouragement when he takes the first, and is noticeably impressed when he downs a second. Jack’s attention is on him now, which was the plan. But the girl on Jack’s right is persistent.

Jack turns to her, “Hang on, sweetheart-” Rhys doesn’t bother listening to the rest of what he’s planning to say and panics. His head is swimming so badly he doesn’t have time to think about his decision to clamps the heel of his shoe down on the toe of Jack’s foot, but that’s exactly what he does. “-fuck!” Jack’s knee jerks in reaction, making the service girl pull her hands away from his body in surprise.

Rhys takes a third shot, trying to feign ignorance while he discreetly tucks his feet away under the booth to avoid blame. The rest of the drunk attendees don’t notice Jack’s hiss of pain over the music and don’t seem to care about his outburst in the least.

“Excuse me, ladies,” Rhys decides this is the best time to retreat and gathers himself to shuffle over Lucy, “Gentlemen…” Rhys nods at the table, trying to avoid Jack’s gaze as he makes for the hall of restrooms near the side of the stage a little too speedily. That apparently gave him away, because he isn’t very far down the quiet hallway until he hears another pair of steps behind him. Rhys is regretting the foot thing now, and turns into a random door that he’s not even sure is a bathroom.

The door doesn’t open fast enough for him to get inside before Jack crowds behind him and rushes him in with a hand on Rhys’ neck. “What was that about, Rhysie?” Jack doesn’t sound angry, but he isn’t at all gentle when he pushes Rhys inside and then pins him against the door’s control panel, briefly wrapping his arm around Rhys to punch in a code that magnetizes the doors with a heavy clink. He probably fucked up, but Rhys can’t regret it when Jack’s hands settle heavily on his hips to hold him still. “…you know I don’t like playing around, kitten.”

Rhys wants to say something smooth, something impressive to explain himself and maybe win Jack over, but his mouth is suddenly very dry and he can’t stop himself from the distracting presence of Jack’s body overwhelming him. “I-” his voice cracks on queue as if to ensure the absolute destruction of his chances, but he clears his throat and starts again, not wanting to give Jack even a second to notice or tease him. “I...know that.” _Fantastic, Rhys._

Jack’s expression is amused for a moment, then darkens as he rakes his gaze down Rhys’ body mischievously. The heavy hands on Rhys’ hips press him further against the wall, Jack’s face tucking close to mumble closely in his ear, “Were you jealous, Rhysie?” Not a question.

Rhys tentatively brings a hand to Jack’s shoulder as if to distance him while a violent shiver eases the air from his lungs in a shy whimper. He can feel the low thrum of the music against his back still playing in the venue. The warm buzz in his head makes Rhys feel bold enough to risk a scoff. “Is that what you thought?” The waver in his voice betrays him.

“Mmhmm,” Jack crinkles the edge of Rhys’ shirt, tracing the edge of his belt to tease him, “you lyin’ to me, princess?” Jack’s accompanying smirk makes Rhys’ head spin.

“I-i honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rhys shudders as Jack’s fingertips brush the skin of his stomach. He takes a deep breath, calming the dizzy elation of his thoughts before they race away from him. “mmn I was just, I didn’t-“

“Shhh,” Jack brushes the edge of Rhys’ ear with the tip of his nose, his too-hot breath making the hair stand up on the back of Rhys’ neck. “It’s not like I can really blame you, can I?” Rhys notices the tension leaving his body under the sudden low timbre of Jack’s voice. Was he actually not in trouble? Or Jack was drunk? Fuck if it mattered now.

Rhys was ready for nearly anything to come next, but not for Jack’s hand to reach into his hair and pull. Hard. He’s too stunned to cry out at the sudden pain and obediently sinks to his knees when Jack guides him down with a rough yank, steadying himself by latching onto Jack’s thigh. Jack lifts the hem of his shirt with his other hand, and presses Rhys’s cheek to his stomach. “Show me what you got, Rhysie. I know you want to.” Initially, Rhys tries to pull away, he really does. But in the end he’s too taken by the skin of Jack’s stomach and its surprising softness to put up much of a fight.

Woah, woah, woah. Any sensible person would be terrified of the flashy grin that spreads over Jack’s mouth from this angle, but the musty smell of flesh coming from where his nose presses into Jack’s happy trail makes Rhys’ head spin with excitement instead. He certainly can’t remember the last time he was so unbelievably hard from just the thought of blowing someone. Jack’s fingers get a little impatient in his hair, “Doin’ you a favor here, babe.” _Yeah, right._ Rhys rolls his eyes but doesn’t truly care either way. This is probably the best possible way he can be used by Jack for some petty entertainment.

Rhys is decidedly bad at this sort of thing, he knows - because it’s obvious in the way his hands tremble sliding up Jack’s thigh to unbuckle and unzip him – but the worst that can happen is that he’s ridiculed after already having Jack’s cock in his mouth, and that sounds like a win/win situation either way he looks at it. Jack sighs when Rhys’ shaky fingers manage the buttons above his zipper, his tightly gripped hand pulling harder every time he felt like Rhys was hesitating. Rhys hopes, foolishly, that his eagerness makes up for the lack of skill he knows he has.

When he gets Jack’s zipper down, Rhys notices the older man hovering further over his kneeling body, the hand clutching at his hair suddenly scratching down the back of his neck and squeezing him possessively. This attention alone makes the pit of his stomach bubbly with brutal arousal. With his head freed up to move, Rhys can’t resist pressing his cheek back to Jack’s happy trail just to feel it on his skin. Jack doesn’t push him away like he expects. The hand Jack was holding his shirt up with drops down to help pull his hardening dick from the tighter confines of his underwear, giving it a few slow stokes and brushing his knuckles against Rhys’ mouth in the process.

Jack is testing his ability to go through with this, he figures, so Rhys gives him what he hopes is a hungry stare and confidently parts his lips. Jack lets him suckle the head into his mouth after briefly lathing a flat tongue along the bottom of it, chuckling when the edges of Rhys’ mouth drag at the lack of immediate wetness when he then tries to take it all one go. He has no idea what he’s doing, that much is obvious. Rhys is no quitter, though, and he simmers down to work a generous amount of saliva down Jack’s length with the help of his flesh hand and fingers, careful not to suck it all away again on instinct. As Jack grows harder, the thickness makes Rhys worry about taking it to the root, but he already gets pretty close with each bob of his head. Rhys grows distracted by a dull ache in his knees and slows his ministrations to settle on his haunches in an attempt to relieve the pain. Jack doesn’t seem to appreciate it, however, and grabs Rhys’ hair to guide him back.

“On your knees, pumpkin.” Rhys obeys, of course, readjusting his lengthy legs until he’s on his knees again. It hurts and it’s frustrating, but he doesn’t want to give Jack any reason to be disappointed in him, or worse, end everything. Jack angles Rhys’ head by hooking under his chin and begins working his hips into Rhys’s mouth forcefully and without warning. The tip of Jack’s dick only brushes roughly over the back of Rhys’ tongue at first, but it still makes him gag and moan in confusion. Jack only increases his force, as if thrusting harder would suddenly learn Rhys’s throat on skillfully taking head. He tries to withstand the pace, but when he can taste waterbrash under his tongue, he panics and tries to squirm away.

Jack grunts at him again, “Stick your tongue out, idiot.” Rhys does what he’s asked while Jack maneuvers his head for him so that each thrust reaches more smoothly to the back of Rhys’ throat. It mostly works, except for when the edge of Jack’s hip smashes into Rhys’ nose a few times, making it sore. Rhys enjoys this weird torture more than he knows he should. Actually, he feels like he could very well melt right through the floor.

Rhys lazily glances over to check the doorway and sees the shadow of people walking in front of the room he and Jack are in. The possibility of someone hearing his…enthusiastic…noises makes his heart speed dangerously. He rolls his eyes back up and clutches the loose fly of Jack’s jeans with his free hand, brows furrowing in concentration to keep the anxiety curled in his stomach where it belongs.

Jack had been following Rhys’ gaze to the door and he immediately catches on. He must, because he laughs a laugh that turns into a growl and starts thrusting faster as if to say he totally wouldn’t mind everyone knowing the new president of Hyperion was getting his mouth wrecked in some dusty back room by his boss. Rhys retaliates by digging his fingers into Jack’s pelvis through the jeans where he was clinging to the fly. Jack growls again, twisting his hold on Rhys’ hair painfully until he cries out around Jack’s cock. He wants to touch himself so badly. He reaches down to remedy his problem, but Jack smacks his cheek suddenly, not terribly hard, but hard enough to warn it could have been much harder. Rhys lets out a defeated moan, the strength of Jack’s movements making his shoulders and arms shake from the effort to obey.

Without warning, Jack pulls off of Rhys’s mouth, tilting his head back with a sharp tug of the soft hair threaded through his fingers. Jack fists himself to stay on edge while he steadies Rhys when his body sways from weak knees. Rhys only barely registers what’s happening when Jack blows his load with a moan that sounds like it was ripped forcefully from his body. Most of it misses Rhys’ mouth, much to his horror, and he flinches as some of it spurts over the bridge of his nose dangerously close to his eyes. It’s much too thick to be pleasant-tasting, but Rhys licks away what’s near his mouth and hangs his head to carefully wipe away the rest with his trembling fingers.

“You’re disgusting,” Jack laughs airily, pulling Rhys’ head up once more by the hair so that their eyes meet. Rhys is still delirious from his inebriation and sensitive from his arousal. The pull of Jack’s cruel hand makes him exhale a few pitiful, strained noises as he attempts to catch his breath. He could rip his belt open he’s so ready to get off. It would only take him a few strokes at this point, but he waits patiently just in case Jack has any better ideas.

“Don’t pull that shit again, okay?” Jack gives him the once over before releasing his grip on Rhys’ hair, shaking his head as the younger man immediately slumps off of his knees and nearly collapses against the wall. Rhys doesn’t realize that Jack is chastising him at first, because if a crash course in giving head was supposed to be a punishment for Rhys, the joke was on Jack. But he definitely didn’t need to know that.

Jack lingers long enough to stretches a kink from his back before flexing his posture with a satisfied smirk and straightening the lapels of his jacket. Rhys silently broods over still being hard, even if he was well aware his chances of being touched were zero to none. Left high and dry after Handsome Jack fucked his mouth, what a way to go. But thinking about it only makes his dick throb painfully.

“Oh. Right.” Jack casually punches in the unlock code into the door’s keypad as he makes to leave. “Clean up and wait for me after the crowds clear out, alright?”

“Uh,” Rhys can’t help himself from glaring up at Jack, “suuuuure.” Jack just cocks an eyebrow at him in response, smirking a bit before he struts through the unlocked sliding doors. When the doors close once more, Rhys crosses his arms over his chest and pouts to the shameful silence of the room. _Asshole._


	3. Gushing gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys honestly didn't think they wouldn't fuck in the chair, did you? Nah. Ya'll know what's up.

Rhys doesn’t stick around like Jack tells him to. Too drunk to be endure more suffering, he leaves the venue when Jack isn’t looking, casually ducking behind crowds of people to avoid being noticed. Rhys barely makes it home and wakes up the next morning lying in a pile of his clothes at the foot of his couch. Close enough.

Shutting off his alarms with a few displeased grumbles, Rhys stumbles to his bathroom to get ready for the day. With a particularly heavy crease in his brow, he struts off to his office like normal, his gut clenching uncomfortably with the thought of having to be anywhere near Jack.

Rhys is too distracted practicing an inner-monologue of unvoiced frustrations to himself at the elevator door to avoid running into someone standing just inside. Rhys’ foul mood gets the better of him and he turns rigidly to scold whatever peon didn’t bother moving out of his way. “Would you-“

“Watch where you’re goin’ there, kiddo.” Jack’s obnoxious, easy tone makes Rhys’ anger fizzle fast. Dodging a hand reaching out for his shoulder, Rhys squints at Jack stubbornly as he dips past the man and leans broodily against the back of the elevator. Jack follows him with a tilt of his head, eyebrows raising in interest.

The other occupants of the elevator fidget uneasily at witnessing the exchange, shifty eyes darting between Rhys’ face and Jack’s feet. Irked by their suspect thoughts, Rhys sets his gaze hard at them, before snapping a terse “Get out.” For once he’s glad his voice doesn’t break on him.

“Whoa, pumpkin,” Jack’s face lights with amusement as he watches everyone stumbling nervously out of the elevator. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“Yeah, well.” Rhys rubs at his port absentmindedly, his momentary burst of annoyance draining his energy, “I meant you, too.”

“Hah,” Jack saunters over and wraps a demanding arm around Rhys’ shoulder, “Hilarious, Rhysie. You mad at me, babe?” Rhys leans further away from the contact, wobbly under the sudden extra weight.

“Jack…” Rhys sighs as Jack’s grip on his shoulder tightens and he feels himself being pulled back towards the older man.

“Whaaat?” Rhys shudders at Jack’s voice in his ear, faded and husky from the strain of his late night before.

Rhys doesn’t answer, the edge of his irritable mood softening under the other man’s subtle attention. He knows he’s as good as putty in Jack’s hands with even the tiniest chance he might be rewarded with a continuation of before. Rhys grimaces at his own predictability.

“You’re mad because I didn’t help you out last night, right?” Jack grabs Rhys by the chin firmly, forcing unsteady eye contact. “I think I remember telling you to stick around, didn’t I?” Frustration rising freshly in his mind, Rhys makes a show of jerking his chin away and glaring holes into the elevator doors.

“Jack. I’m not going to wait around for you to finish toying with me.” Rhys breaks for the elevator door as soon as it begins to open, trying desperately not to glance back.

“Oh-oho, is that what this is about?” Jack snorts obnoxiously as he follows at Rhys’ heel, his loud laughter spreading a clear path in the flow employees bustling around them. “Alright, you’re kinda sending me some mixed signals here, Rhysie. I thoughts you were, ya’know…into that kinda thing.”

“Into that kind of thing!?” Rhys halts and turns on his heel to sneer at Jack’s smug face, shying away when he feels too many eyes on him. “Jack,” Rhys touches his port again out of habit as he turns away to continue walking, his eyes screwed shut in the effort to pretend he was anywhere else other than this conversation. “Jack, you-“ He cuts sharply down the quiet ex-tour hall that leads to their office, pausing at the door to punch in the disarm code. Waiting for the door to open, Rhys catches Jack’s expression from the corner of his vision; the heat crawling up his neck prompting him to hiss angrily, “You face-fucked me in a storage closet!”

“Hmm. Yep. That definitely happened. I remember, pumpkin, I was there.” Jack crosses his arms and puffs his chest, a wicked laugh splitting his stupid, smug face. “I also remember you going along with it, Rhys. If there were any complaints, I didn’t hear them.”

“You know, I really don’t want to talk about this right now,” Rhys moodily moves into the office, straightening his collar to distract himself from the warmth prickling his cheeks.

“Good. Didn’t plan on talking about it.” Rhys yelps as Jack suddenly yanks him by the back of his collar, guiding him towards the desk. Jack shoves him against the edge of it, intrusively pressing himself between the younger man’s lengthy legs.

“Jack-” Rhys leans far back, his butt falling on the top of the desk and shuffling backwards the more Jack draws near to him. Jack’s eyes are a thrilling mix of mischievous and determined as he hovers in, placing his hands flat to the desk’s surface on either side of Rhys’ hips. Raising his knee to Jack’s crotch, Rhys attempts to stall him as he wiggles farther and farther away. “Seriously. I-”

“You know, it’s only cute the first time you play hard to get,” Jack chuckles darkly, placing a hand on Rhys’ knee, trailing it down his thigh and parting his legs in the process. Rhys make an unpleasant noise in the back of his throat and grows tense as Jack slides up against him. “Just trying to pay you back, here, pumpkin.”

Rhys grabs Jack’s wrist to gently tug it away as it continues its journey down his thigh to creep up under the layers of his shirt. Displeased, Jack’s playful grin falters and he draws closer to Rhys’ face threateningly. The younger man immediately withers away, falling back on his elbows with gasp, face painted in a betraying mix of confusion and anticipation.

Jack’s smile returns, followed by a thick chuckle, “You’ve been such a good boy, Rhysie,” His gaze follows the trail of his hands as they wrap hungrily around Rhys’ hips. Rhys feels his face and stomach prickle with warmth at the praise, now unable to bring himself to look anywhere near Jack. His sudden silence gets the other man’s attention. “You like that, huh? You like it when I call you a good boy?” Jack’s amused, light tone makes Rhys’ squirm uncomfortably.

“N-no,” Rhys really wants to mean it, but his voice is brittle with a nervous snicker, “I don’t need you reminding me of how unimportant I am.”

Jack grabs him roughly by the collar, yanking Rhys to his chest with a sharp laugh. “Still got a mouth on you, huh?” Rhys instinctively braces a hand between them, his fingers curling tightly in the fabric of Jack’s shirt.

“W-what do you want from me?” Rhys hisses harshly between clenched teeth, visibly shaking in restraint as Jack leans in to scent along his neck.

“You think you’re gonna make me beg, sweetheart?” Rhys jerks his head away from the low whisper tickling the shell of his ear and exhales hard, his composure dissolving entirely under the sudden aggressive nudge of Jack’s hips against the gap of his thighs.

“Not here-“ Rhys cringes at his voice as it gives out on him.

Jack _growls_ in irritation, “Yes, here,” before wrapping a strong hand around Rhys’ neck and pressing him back down onto the desk. Rhys cries out weakly and grabs onto the wrist of Jack’s hand as it pins him in place. “Shit, Rhysie. You’re so damn hard.” Jack’s other hand palms over Rhys’ crotch and squeezes his bulge callously.

“Don’t!” Rhys whines, “I can’t-” Jack abruptly leans down and bites on Rhys’ bottom lip, sucking it between his own with a throaty groan. Rhys pants like he’s in pain, but it’s the unexpected tenderness of Jack’s mouth that utterly terrifies him.

Jack releases Rhys’ mouth to suck on his chin while his free hand takes to tearing the younger man’s belt from his ruffled pants. Rhys gradually offers him a hand, calmly undoing what Jack’s impatience cannot.

Jack wordlessly smirks at Rhys’ choice of underwear and general lack of hair as he runs the rough palm of his hands over the strained fabric and continues up onto the flat of the kids’ trembling stomach. “Give me some tongue, baby.” Rhys reassess his vulnerable state with an indecent moan, then cranes his neck against the constraint of Jack’s hand to meet the other man’s lips.

Peeling Rhys’ patterned, bright blue and yellow briefs down over his erection, Jack feels him out to tempt his noises. Rhys wants to touch and _be_ touched already, but if he doesn’t say something, soon, Jack will always take him as a two-pump chump.

“Mm, Jack,” Rhys breaks away from Jack’s mouth gasping for breath, his lips itching with the need to continue. Caught up in the urge, he goes back for one more, but _only_ one more, making sure to get a lasting taste of what he is afraid of never getting after what he is about to say. “Slow down, okay? I don’t want-” Shaking his head, Rhys quickly gathers himself with a harder tone, “This isn’t enough,” Jack quietly waits to hear where Rhys is going, but looks offended right away, “You think a shitty hand job is fair compensation?” _It’d probably get off in like, five seconds, actually_ , Rhys jokes to himself, suddenly more aware of the literal state of his arousal. “I-I could…help myself at this rate and still-”

“Rhys.” Jack is frantically flipping him over before Rhys can finish, pressing him into the cold surface of the desk. “Rhysie.” Rhys yelps as Jack yanks his pants down over his ass, leaving them to cling to the top of his slim thighs. For a moment Rhys worries that Jack might be cruel enough to take him dry, but relaxes with a hesitant sigh when the man merely presses up against him once more, the risen bump of his jeans rubbing languidly across the crease of Rhys’ ass cheeks. This time when Jack moves his hips, Rhys is bewildered by how unbelievably satisfying it feels. “You should _reeeeally_ stop talking, cupcake.”

Jack proceeds to shove Rhys’ underwear down the rest of the way, stepping back a bit to take a hand-full each of the pleasantly rounded ass in front of him. Rhys swallows his immediate embarrassment with a whimper, unsteadily bracing his arms on either side of himself to twist so that he can see Jack’s expression, ridicule-be-damned. Jack looks about as affronted as Rhys feels, yet he bites his lip and delivers a harsh smack to the defenseless swell of Rhys’ ass.

His whole body jolts and flinches in response, a delayed cry following soon after. Rhys glares Jack down with an angry crease in his brow, wordlessly berating the older man’s usual impulsive behavior. Jack only quirks an eyebrow at him excitedly, then absentmindedly soothes any sore skin as he leans in along the arch of Rhys’ back.

“This enough for you yet, big guy?” Jack chuckles playfully into Rhys’ ear as his hands snake beneath the younger man’s shirt, popping some of the buttons free from the inside as his arms worm up and down.

“Ugh,” Rhys drops his head down on the desk in dismay, moaning despite himself, “ _You’re such an asshole._ ” Jack’s teasing lulls momentarily as he seeks out one of Rhys’ nipples, pinching on it relentlessly harder until he is rewarded with a scathing hiss of pain. Rhys’ hands quickly go for Jack’s, grabbing the outline of his wrists to claw them away.

“Fuck,” Jack laughs and lets Rhys pin his hands down underneath his own. “You’re so hot when you’re mad, kitten.” Rhys isn’t in the slightest bit amused, although he falters slightly at the compliment.

Mouthing along Rhys’ neck, Jack takes one of his hands back to pat at his pockets. Rhys presses into him impatiently, his brows still furrowed in frustration. Jack tsks at him before taking his other hand back as well to unbuckle himself. Rhys’ concentration drifts momentarily while he waits for Jack, his chest feeling uncomfortably tight squished up against desk.

“Ah! Wha-” Rhys shutters violently, caught off-guard by a sudden wetness on the back of his thigh. Jack is smearing the contents of the foil packet down the inside of his thigh with a concentrated gaze. Rhys is confused, shuffling around to get a better look at what kind of discomfort Jack’s preparing to submit him to next. “Wait, you’re not gonna-”

Jack pushes Rhys’ head down and gathers both of his arms together by the elbows. “Be a good boy and close your legs for me, sweetie.”

“Wha-?” Rhys feels a hard, warm pressure slide in among the cooling lube dripping down his thigh, making him gasp. “O-oh...”

“Yeah. You like that.” Jack confirms, his voice low and heavy with arousal. Rhys obediently angles his knees inward and closes his thighs around Jack’s cock as it starts moving against him, the feeling leaving him near breathless. Jack gradually picks up his pace after finding the slipperiest spot, the edge of his hips smacking lewdly against Rhys’ ass. “ _Tighter_.”

Rhys whimpers and clenches tighter, legs trembling from the sensation of Jack’s cock brushing under his tightening balls. “Jack, nngh-” he cries weakly, tugging at the hold on his arms.

“What is it, baby?” Jack groans in response, releasing one of Rhys’ arms to press a steadying hand onto the small of his back instead. “Tell me what you want, Rhys.”

“Inside,” Rhys presses back into Jack’s thrusting, biting his bottom lip raw as he growls in a tight, strained voice, “I want you inside of me.”

Without a word, Jack pulls Rhys up against him by his arm, sliding out from between his thighs to shuffle over to their familiar yellow chair on the other side of the desk. He sits down with a huff, quickly taking his jacket off and tossing it sloppily to the ground. The quiet, smoldering look that Jack gives him as he begins to dig through his desk’s drawer makes Rhys feel weak in the knees all over again.

His legs catching in the awkward confine of his messed pants, Rhys shimmies them down to his ankles and crawls up into Jack’s lap on his knees. Rhys ignores the anxiety bubbling under his arousal and pushes Jack into the back of the chair by his shoulders, kissing him hard. Now thoroughly distracted, Jack stops rummaging in the desk drawer to reciprocate, clawing at Rhys’ ass fervently with his free hand. “ _Give me a second_ , buttercup.”

Jack tucks Rhys’ face into the junction of his neck to keep him from being a further distraction, searching around in the drawer a little more before finding an aged but otherwise unopened bottle of lube. “Hurry,” Rhys whines, absentmindedly pressing their erections together with his flesh hand.

Jack pops the bottle open with a grunt, squeezing almost the entire thing onto his dick and then hisses as Rhys spreads the stray slick over him properly. Using what’s left on his hand, Rhys reaches between his legs, unlearned on what to do next but trying not to show any kind of hesitance.

Jack suddenly laughs when Rhys stalls for too long and it startles him with a small jolt, “Here, kiddo.” Rhys shifts about self-consciously as Jack grabs his wet hand and guides it between his legs. “Easy.” Trembling as Jack’s fingers begin to rub gently over his hole, Rhys makes a worried expression as he rests his forehead to Jack’s collarbone. Noticing, Jack giggles into his ear, “You, uh…think it’ll fit?”

“Please don’t say that!” Rhys whines, taking Jack’s smiling mouth into his own with again just to shut him up. Meanwhile his stomach flutters nervously at the unusual feeling of the thick finger probing into him. Rhys attempts to help him get on with it, shimmying up and tilting his hips towards Jack’s chest so that he hovers just above a very eager cock.

“Please, huh?” Jack mumbles between their mouths, “Look at _you_ and your impeccable manners. Gonna need to reward you extra for that later, pumpkin.”

“ _Please_ stop talking?” Scooting down in the chair, Jack pulls Rhys down closer to his crotch, sliding the head of his cock against where his fingers are burying into Rhys’ warmth.

“I’ll forgive you for that one, Rhysie,” Jack chuckles breathlessly, “I can’t wait to be inside of you either, baby.”

“Ugh,” Rhys’ legs tremble dangerously with the effort to hold himself together, his energy slowly draining with each new sensation Jack makes him feel. This was more than anything he could have hoped for. Almost too much.

“Easy, easy,” Jack murmurs, watching Rhys’ face closely as he attempts to begin guiding himself in. “Fuck, you’re such a good boy.”

Rhys grits his teeth at the splitting pressure, grabbing his cock and stroking it to distract himself from the unpleasant pain. A very frustrated and impulsive part of Rhys wants to take Jack’s cock in one go, to make the older man moan and thrust to his heart’s content. Rhys cries something unintelligible, his eyes bleary and watering as he sinks further onto Jack’s cock.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jack’s hips are trembling, too, now, “Rhys-”

Rhys is lost to Jack’s warning, flushed and bewildered as he wipes fat tears that being to fall from his eyes. Barely pushed in to the head of his cock, Jack comes with a tight groan. Rhys makes a chorus of pleased sounds as Jack slips out and pumps the rest of his orgasm out against Rhys’ abused hole.

Just as Rhys feels like he could pass out, Jack is wrapping his arms around him and righting their position in the big yellow chair. Sliding a gentle finger back into the gooey mess of Rhys’ entrance, Jack devours his mouth and begins jerking him to climax without hesitation. The fury of Rhys’ long-awaited orgasm leaves his body wrecked and limp against Jack’s damp, heaving chest.

After a comfortable moment of relieved silence, Jack croaks a haughty, “You alright there, princess?”

Rhys immediately covers Jack’s mouth with his flesh hand. Jack just laughs triumphantly from behind it and then proceeds to nibble on Rhys’ palm until he pulls his hand away. Much to Rhys’ disdain, he is repositioned until he sits between Jack’s legs facing the desk, and is surprised when he is allowed to remain sitting there without any disgusted complaints. Rhys slouches forward to rest his flushed face on the cold desk, mumbling tiredly “You’re the worst.”

“Damn right, kitten.” Jack’s voice is still slightly gruff with exertion. Rhys is beginning to doze off when he feels Jack’s hot hands glide up the plane of his back. “Ready to go again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOHOHO, finally finished. I have some other things coming up soon, so I wanted to get this out of the way. I hope you guys liked it!!!
> 
> onimata/cr34my @ tumblr


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